


A Collection of Oneshots

by Lily_of_the_Night



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Headcanons run rampant here, It's literally all just a ton of headcanons, M/M, Other, misc oneshots mostly, rated for later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-21 20:39:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11952204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lily_of_the_Night/pseuds/Lily_of_the_Night
Summary: Each chapter will have to have its own summary since it's, as the title would suggest, a collection of drabbles and oneshots. Overall, though, it's mostly things centering around Adrian or the Trevor/Adrian pairing. Also, feel free to leave a comment and tell me what you think. I do appreciate hearing other people's thoughts. :)





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first one I wrote. It's minuscule. Just a small snippet of what runs through Adrian's mind as the trio is camped out for a night in the wilderness. It takes place maybe after a month or two of them traveling together.

Gilded eyes watch in the cover of night, the firelight catching them and making them glow in the way of the night’s hunters every once in awhile. They watch the look of concentration creasing sharp, dark brows. They watch battleworn hands rub oil into a silver blade, tendons straining when the dagger is turned. They watch the downward quirk to the edge of a handsome mouth when the blade is tested and doesn't yield the desired result. They watch and commit it all to memory. 


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Supposing Adrian was caught by the church, or fanatics of it. Maybe even both. Supposing he's weakened enough that he can't escape on his own to fight the people off. Supposing his hair is precious to him because his mother adored it, thus why he keeps it so long. (Featuring Trevor Belmont's rage problems at the very end).

A lock of hair, the colour of pale gold, flutters to the dirt. There's grimy fingers buried in the soft tresses, curls twined about them and pulled taught and long legs kick out in desperation to escape. Deadly nails seeking the bastard with the blade who laughs at his weakness. 

 

Then, a hand clutching a rusty knife falls to the ground before him, torn from the body it belongs to. There's an inhuman snarl from a few yards away and Adrian feels the harsh pull to his precious hair suddenly disappear, another hand falling beside him, severed at the wrist to avoid damage to his locks. Relief floods him like cool water slaking a deep thirst and he looks up to see salvation thudding closer so  _ fast _ , it's almost a blur. 

 

It's  _ him _ . Screaming something the blond can't make out and looking by all rights like a god of vengeance. Deadly and livid and  _ perfect _ . 


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A "what if" sort of AU wherein a wounded Trevor Belmont seeks help from the closest healer available to him: Lisa, who is living in a nice little house with her son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this, I tweaked around the ages a bit, making Trevor about 17 years older than Adrian. This chapter is completely safe, there's absolutely nothing particularly shippy other than toddler Adrian potentially being fascinated with the giant dork that just showed up in the middle of the night. Lots of headcanon in general, as always (i.e. Trevor's height and general appearance). Further explanations at the bottom.

“Adrian, dearest, could you fetch the antiseptic for mama?”

 

“Mmn,” a nod, a soft patter of small bare feet and some bouncing blond curls later, Lisa receives the bottle with a smile. “This one?”

 

“Yes, love, thank you,” the woman replies, taking the bottle from careful little hands with a smile that lights up her face. He thinks, with certainty, that she  _ must _ be the prettiest lady in all the lands. The kindest and the smartest, definitely. 

 

As he watches his mother apply the solution to a small scrape on her hand, the small boy hopes he grows up to be just like her. 

 

Loud pounding at the door startles Adrian from his thoughts, wide golden eyes turning to regard it as if worried it may fall over. His mother’s quiet laugh drains the tension from small shoulders, her warm hand ruffling his curls even more so. 

 

“Probably someone with a stubbed toe,” she jokes, nudging him toward the door. “Go answer it, I'll finish up here.”

 

The boy nods again, thinking mostly of the fact that he can bite whoever it is if they mean his mother harm. He doesn't see her stealthily hide the fancy dagger a certain overprotective vampire had left her with, watching her son carefully as he approaches the door. 

 

The door creaks open a sliver, enough for one golden eye to peek out at.. a knee. Pale brows creasing, he follows the knee up, up, up until he finds a ( _ very _ ) tall man who seems to be clutching his right arm. There's dirt smudged on his chin and nose, a cut on his cheek with a bruise surrounding it. His clothing is of fine make but it is also dirty and torn in places. Still, he smiles when his gaze drops to Adrian and he crouches (with some difficulty) to be closer to eye level. Upon closer inspection, he seems quite.. young. 

 

“Ah, hello,” he greets, his voice pleasant and bearing an accent Adrian is unfamiliar with. “I heard there's a healer here? I uh, happen to be in need of some–” he coughs a bit and winces, clutching his side now, “some healing.”

 

The boy considers this a moment, subtly sniffing at the air to find the scent of human blood and that which seems to be lycan in nature. He isn't lying, the human blood is fresh, therefore it is his. 

 

A low, drawn out creak sounds as the door is pulled open further, Adrian regarding the man in a way he learned from his father (chin up, brow raised and gaze the epitome of unimpressed). 

 

“You seek my mother,” he says softly (in that lilting voice father always says he got from mother), showing none of the nerves or fears he feels at meeting a man so large who isn't his father. “What is your name?”

 

The man, to his credit, looks comically surprised once Adrian speaks. Then his brows (dark and arched) furrow in vague confusion and curiosity. 

 

“Trevor– uh, Raphael– How–” his words are cut off by Lisa’s approach beside her son. 

 

“Adrian, I've taught you better manners than that,” she scolds gently, laying a hand on the boy’s slim little shoulder. “Try again, and quickly.”

 

The haughty look falters a moment, replaced by something softer yet still guarded. “Apologies,” he mumbles, nearly stumbling over the word, “please, come in. I am Adrian and this is my mother, Lisa. Pleased to meet you.”

 

“Better, love. Now go fetch my bag, please.” Lisa smiles at the man as he more or less stumbles inside, then helps him to a chair by the hearth. 

 

“Nice to meet you both,” the man groans, pain more evident in his tone after all of the movement. “Name’s Raphael Belmont. I– ah, got into a fight.. of sorts.”

 

“Lycanthrope, judging by the gashes,” Lisa guesses, her tone knowing. “Were you bitten?”

 

“Nooo,” he answers, perplexed and watching as Adrian returns with a large leather bag to set it at his mother’s side. His bright blue eyes flicker subtly over the implements scattered throughout the house, curiosity and confusion warring over his features. 

 

“Are you sure?” Lisa asks, amusement lacing her words while her brow lifts as she opens the bag. 

 

“Yes– How do you know what werewolf scratches look like?” There's no hostility in his tone, only something akin to befuddlement. 

 

“I see all sorts of injuries here. We're barely an hour away from a major city. Targoviste is frequently visited by travelers from all over, and many of them get caught unawares by all sorts of creatures and beasts.” She glances up and catches Trevor staring at one of her microscopes, weariness making her lips draw thin before she speaks again, “Before you ask, or assume, I am not a witch. I am a scientist. It isn't black magic, or magic of any sort. Just.. science. Knowledge.”

 

That brings those blue eyes right back to Lisa, and he raises an eyebrow. “I know science. Not like this, but I know what it is. My family knows some and we are taught what there is of it in the family books from a young age. I don't think you're a witch. Just scary smart, probably.”

 

Laughing at that assessment, the woman shrugs and nods, “So you  _ are _ a Belmont, of  _ those _ Belmonts. Certainly explains why you aren't half dead. Clothes off now, please. You may keep your under pants on unless there's wounds on your backside as well.”

 

The man sputters rather comically, colour rising high on his cheeks as he more or less gawks. “Uh– um– wait–”

 

“I can't access your wounds if your dirty clothing is sticking all over them,” Lisa explains patiently, though there's the barest hint of humor in her voice. “How old are you, anyway?”

 

“Twenty-three.. You're.. really, ah, you really don't mince words, do you?”

 

“Not at all!” She answers cheerfully, preparing some cotton wads with the antiseptic solution her son had given her earlier. “And you're as bashful as Adrian. Who is six years old.”

 

The hunter's face drops a bit in chagrin and he grumbles as he begins removing his layers, starting with a cloak and belts bearing an alarming amount of weaponry. All of which the aforementioned six year old eyes wearily before readying what he knows his mother will need to patch the Belmont up. 

 

It's weird, he decides, learning that the boogeyman is just tall and a bit.. silly. His hair is nice, though. A few inches past his shoulders and the colour of chocolate (seems thick and soft, too, by the way it moves when he does).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In one particular headcanon here, Trevor mentions his name as "Raphael" mostly because I find his nickname being "Ralph" to be funny, if anyone happened to be curious about that. This will probably be a relatively often featured headcanon in my writing. To be more thorough, in my writing, his full name will be Raphael Constantine Belmont (Trevor and Ralph being his nicknames).
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is NSFW.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There /is/ an "alternate" ending for the part after the break at the very end. It'll be in the end notes section. As always, comments are welcome and thank you for reading this monstrosity of smut. Hahaha~

In times where his emotions run wild, Adrian has trouble keeping many things in check; his fangs, his urges to claw, his magic. So, it's no surprise that he can see the hunter's breath fog between them as if they're standing out in the howling winter wind, but it's his own pale flesh that erupts in goosebumps at the touch of a rough palm sliding up his arm and along the bare curve of a shoulder. 

 

It feels like flames eating him up whole and the blond leans into it, heart thundering in his ears louder than the blizzard raging on outside. He hears his own sharp intake of breath, almost tasting the whiskey lingering on those lips that smirk inches from his own. Then, Adrian's focus shifts to the tightening grip of that other hand, resting at the small of his back. The thin fabric of his nightgown bunches up, rising over the curve of his calves as warm fingers press into his skin through it. 

 

It feels like staring at a cliff’s edge, the urge to jump alluring and frightening in equal parts. He fully intends to heed it when he sees the hunger simmering in eyes like ice. And why shouldn't he? The feelings he holds for this man are..  _ profound _ . Timeless. Inescapable and beautiful and tender. 

 

Slowly, he draws closer, noting all the minute reactions the movement garners. A low rumbling sound, intrigued and encouraging, a softening in sharp blues that watch keenly. A gentle pull at his waist, restraint evident and telling of a subtle desperation– one he also feels. Fingers burying into the thick of pale blond waves, petting sweetly and urging his head back. He goes willingly, feeling pliant and uncharacteristically submissive, the cool weight of silken blond waves cascading to pool lower at his waist as the pale column of his throat is bared to inquisitive lips that burn as they drag downward. The scrape of teeth is almost too much, a breathy little sound slipping past Adrian's lips, hands clutching at bronzed arms because surely his knees can't hold him when the hunter does that. He can  _ feel _ the curve of a smirk pressed to his collarbone like a brand. 

 

When they move, it's like a parody of a dance– Trevor advancing like the prowling fearsome man he is while Adrian walks backward with the motion, all fluid grace and frayed nerves. Then, they're tumbling onto thick furs, the texture soft and pleasing against flesh like porcelain (chilled, pale, begging to be bruised). The hunter looms for a moment, his gaze roving without shame and Adrian knows that look; he's memorizing, learning, appreciating. It's a look the dhampir has worn on more than one occasion himself, though never in such a context. 

 

Those roughened hands are still. And then they aren't– he isn't. 

 

Trevor sits back a bit, his hands sliding over the dhampir's ankles, tracing the fine bones and tendons before continuing along smooth calves. The nightgown rises up with the motion, pooling at the warrior's wrists and Adrian can't suppress the shiver that races up his spine, making him arch and his lashes flutter as if his eyes want to shut. They don't. He can't look away; fears this may dissolve like a dream if he does. 

 

Then that scalding touch is gliding over his thighs, fingers splayed and pressing into his skin like they want to leave their prints there. He pushes back, craving the marks– the proof. Neither of them do things in half measures, it isn't their way. He learns that the insides of his thighs, where the skin is softest, is sensitive in a way that makes white teeth catch the swell of a petal pink lip, a soft whine threatening to work its way out. 

 

A flush blooms along delicate cheekbones, unmarred shoulders, and fine collarbones. One of those large hands lifts to trace the shade of pink peonies from his clavicle up into the back of Adrian's hairline, fingers curling into his hair and a hot mouth pressing against his. The sound of his own heartbeat is nearly loud as thunder at the sheer sensation, warmth flooding his veins and golden eyes finally slipping shut. His own pale fingers curve to grasp at the pelt beneath him, the feeling of soft fur under his palms all too easy to ignore when his whole body is alight with feeling. Undeniably, Trevor's kiss feels like what he imagines coming home after a very long time feels like. It's lingering and sweet and all consuming. It tastes of whiskey and holy purity, searing his veins like swallowing blessed water. It makes him feel so vulnerable; raw and flayed open.. human. 

 

When the hunter draws away, Adrian meets his icy gaze, marveling for the thousandth time how those eyes barely have any colour at all except for the purest blue and how much he adores them. Again, their breaths mingle, swirling like mist between them because the dhampir is mindlessly producing a chill in the air. Maybe akin to some latent self defense mechanism because he feels like he's burning up. Melting. 

 

A tremor runs through him, goosebumps rising as if lightning is about to strike. And strike it does– that warm mouth crashing down on his own once more. 

 

This kiss is different, but no less breathtaking. There's roughness and teeth and the desire to posses wholly, a large hand fisting in his hair and pulling to get a better angle, tongue mapping the inside of his mouth as if searching for the very essence that makes him who he is– wanting to taste it. A muffled whine escapes him as he arches, chest pressing flush against the hunter who is bearing down on him like some manner of feral beast. That sound only seems to incite him more, then that hot mouth is kissing and licking and  _ biting _ down his throat, surely leaving angry red marks over the delicate skin there and  _ god, it's so good _ . Adrian feels like a live wire of sensation. His legs shift to wrap about Trevor's waist, drawing him in instinctively and electricity crackles in the air (static and building with the staccato beat of his heart). The sound that rumbles in the hunter's chest is surely a sin, a growl worthy of a fearsome creature but he sounds so  _ pleased _ and then he's  _ grinding  _ down and sinking his teeth into the meaty part of Adrian's shoulder until blood wells up and the dhampir just  _ knows _ that'll scar, at least for a little while. It makes him moan, a breathy little sound more becoming of a brothel whore than the prince of vampires, but he  _ doesn't fucking care _ and his leg is sliding up Trevor's side to feel the roughness of all those scars drag so sweetly along his inner thigh. Then a clever tongue is licking up the redness of the bite, smearing and tasting and painting him with it and just  _ that  _ is almost too damn much because he's still a virgin and he's feeling so fucking much all at once that the pleasure is nearly painful in its intensity. 

 

Trevor seems to remember himself, drawing in a deep shuddering breath then kissing over the bite mark softly, so  _ softly _ . His grip on the dhampir's hair eases and his fingers spread to cradle the back of Adrian's skull, his breath hot on a delicate collarbone when he exhales. Dimly, the blond is aware of his night clothes pooled at his hips and the weight of the hunter's waist resting so comfortably between smooth, pale legs like a dancer’s. Their bodies are slotted together as if they're meant to fit one another and Adrian's golden gaze is lazily tracing the line of Trevor's shoulders where they're illuminated by the fireplace, broad and tan and scarred like the rest of him. Gorgeous. 

 

His fingers, slim and cool, dance up the tense line of the hunter's left arm. The shiver he feels above makes Adrian smile, an indulgent little thing despite the fondness in his gaze. He sees Trevor lift a brow, the question verbalized only in the movement of a rough palm up the back of his thigh. Flustered and  _ wanting _ , the dhampir nods once, licking over his lips because they've suddenly become dry. There's relief and adoration in the hunter's eyes when he pulls back just enough to loosen the laces of Adrian's nightgown. Then, he's slowly pushing the thin material further up until he's pulling it off over the blond's head. So careful he is, much more so than Adrian would have expected and it makes his heart ache sweetly. Once the garment has been discarded somewhere out of the reach of golden eyes, Trevor  _ stares _ again. He seems.. awestruck and it's easily the most flattering thing. 

 

The blond hopes fervently that he can remember this look on the other man’s face for the rest of his life, with crystal clarity, the way he sees it now. It makes him feel..  _ treasured _ , sacred. 

 

Calloused hands return to Adrian's skin, tracing hymns of gentle devotion where his veins are faintly visible, pumping blood the way a human does yet almost with the chill of a vampire. Honeyed eyes watch the hair on the hunter's arms rise the way it would before lightning strikes and he knows his magic is filling the air around them, manifesting the sparks he feels just under his own flesh. Those wicked hands leave not a single patch of him untouched, exploring slowly and thoroughly, icy blues hungry– no,  _ ravenous _ on him, and the dhampir thrives on the vulnerability he feels when those hands get to his delicate throat, simply resting there a moment to feel the jump of his pulse like birds’ wings. Then they're burying into his hair, pulling his head back until that pale column is bared in a pretty arc to hungry lips, teeth, tongue. 

 

When Trevor bears down on him again, pressing them skin to skin, they both sigh in tandem, a satisfied sound as warm meets chilled –smooth softness held down by its complete opposite. The hunter shifts tentatively, a slow roll of his body to which Adrian responds beautifully, writhing beneath him languidly until they've found a lazy rhythm. It only lasts a few minutes before the blond is frustrated at the barrier presented by Trevor's linen pants, feeling only the hard line of him pressing teasingly where he wants it. There's a crackle of irritation in the air before Adrian whines, slipping his hand between their bodies to push down at the larger man's waistband. 

 

Fingers like ice fumble a moment, and when they accidentally slip beneath the fabric brushing along hot velvety skin, they pause in intrigue. A rumbling growl from Trevor is all the encouragement he needs to wrap his hand around that tantalizing flesh, giving him a slow stroke just to feel the slip of foreskin along the hunter's length. Teeth find the tender underside of his jaw, nipping down along his carotid artery while more growling groans reverberate through the broad chest above him, an involuntary thrust driving Trevor's cock against his cool palm. All of it seems to set fire to Adrian's blood, his lithe frame unable to stay still, undulating against the larger man slowly and languidly. 

 

Making the mistake of meeting Trevor's gaze, the dhampir can't help but make a needy little mewling sound, his grip tightening momentarily because good  _ God _ the way this man is looking at him has to be blasphemous. He stares unblinking, transfixed and possessive with eyes like two blue flames and Adrian swears he can feel the heat of that gaze lick up his spine bidding him to arch nice and pretty like the wanton creature he suddenly finds he is. 

 

It ought to be humiliating, the way his body  _ begs _ for this man, wet at both his own cock and the untouched ring of muscle that twitches in want (and isn't that  _ new _ ; perhaps some sort of evolutionary trait from his vampiric side, meant to protect him in every possible manner) and wanting and making him no better than a whore with the sounds he's making. Humiliation is the absolute furthest thing from the blond Prince’s addled mind, however, and he is shameless in his desire for the hunter. 

 

That seems to be the correct course of action because there's another flurry of movement from the older man and the next thing he knows, they're both equally bare and Trevor is looking at him somewhat hesitantly, sitting back on his haunches. His hands rest gently on the dhampir's knees, thumbs rubbing absent minded circles as he seems to be considering something.. or, maybe, waiting? 

 

When Adrian's gaze slips lower (over the impressive expanse of the other’s chest, scarred and bearing a light dusting of dark hair that he now knows to be an odd smooth-rough texture, down a strong abdomen riddled with more scars, plains of muscle and a trail of that same hair leading lower still) he realizes why. There, amid the last bit of that body hair, is the hard line of Trevor's length. He is..  _ quite  _ blessed, it would seem. Maybe, if he hadn't spent so long being so terribly enamoured, Adrian would find himself intimidated. As it is, he can only muster a soft whimper reaching for the larger man with both hands, grasping bronze wrists and dragging him closer until his weight has settled between pale thighs once more. A gust of hot air stirs flaxen curls, Trevor's groan raising goosebumps along the dhampir's skin while he sighs in contentment, chilled fingers sliding along warm broad shoulders. 

 

They don't speak in words, but the way cool skin presses up against the heat of the hunter's frame and how he bears down languidly in return says enough. For a long moment, they are both pleased enough to simply shift together, cocks pressed between their bodies and smearing precome until the slide is nice and easy and Adrian’s sharp nails nearly threaten to bury into Trevor’s shoulders. He murmurs a mindless plea, head tossed back when it gets to be nearly  _ too much _ , and the hunter stops to prop himself up with one arm, seemingly growing just as impatient as his ethereal lover. 

 

It’s then that one of those roughened fingers lightly traces over the dhampir’s entrance, a grin pulling at those warm lips and making Trevor seem not unlike a pleased wolf, all teeth and hunger in his eyes, when he feels a small amount of slick wetness greet his touch. He doesn’t seem to want to bother questioning it like Adrian would if he had the cognitive function to do so, perhaps opting to leave that for later, instead pressing a fingertip in so terribly slowly. The blond’s face contorts in a mixture of confusion and pleasure - his puzzlement mostly due to how unaccustomed he is to being touched by anyone other than himself there -- pale brows creasing and lips parting on a breathy little noise. That reaction seems to encourage the hunter, his hand pushing on until that finger has sunk exquisitely into the vice like grip the beautiful body beneath him offers and he groans low and appreciative, bright blues fixed on the way that pretty pink opening seems to cling to him, glistening faintly in the dim light. The dhampir’s body gives a little twitch when he notices where Trevor is looking and he arches again, unintentionally bearing down onto the intrusion and gasping the hunter’s name when the shift proves to be so very  _ good _ . His own hands fall useless above his head, resting over the halo of pale blond curls spread across the pillows and he swears he hears Trevor tell him he’s perfect under his breath. 

 

He certainly  _ feels  _ perfect, seeing how flushed the other man has become simply from looking at him, but that thought doesn’t linger because soon enough the finger buried in him begins shifting on its own, testing the give of his body by drawing out almost entirely then slowly pushing back in until he’s whimpering and moving against the motions on instinct. At some point (Adrian can no longer keep track of minutes or moments) he feels a second digit join the first, the two pressing in tentatively and carefully, mindful not to hurt or overwhelm him. The dhampir only realizes he’s gotten impatient and impaled himself on those fingers when sparks fly at the edges of his vision, a sharp stab of ecstasy racing along his nerve endings like a wildfire. A desperate cry tumbles past parted lips and Trevor seems to freeze in response, keen blues fixed on his lover’s delicate features searching for any sign that the dhampir may be in pain. When he finds none, that devilish smirk steals across his lips again and he begins slowly coaxing that puckered pink opening to widen and relax, his fingers petting along slick inner walls and scissoring wider every so often. 

 

For his part, the blond finds himself unable to do much aside from keen sweetly and writhe against that sinful touch, beside himself with  _ need _ . Alabaster limbs shift restlessly, his flushed cock leaking more freely than before, the soft skin of his belly glistening while his chest heaves breathlessly. All of this, the hunter seems to drink in with his gaze, his touch growing more and more insistent until Adrian bares his teeth and tosses his head, just about aroused enough to start  _ demanding _ . Almost. Luckily Trevor seems to take pity on him, or perhaps he’s simply reached the limit of his own patience, and withdraws his fingers only to replace them with the promising press of his cock. Secret sadist that he is, he cannot seem to help teasing even then, dragging his prick over Adrian’s slick opening and letting it catch at his rim just barely a couple of times. It’s enough to drive the dhampir mad, hands clutching at the headboard of the bed because if they don’t he’s liable to gouge the hunter for daring to torture him so. Still, he whines and pleads in broken little sounds rather than issuing any orders, some part of him actually drawing a great deal of arousal from simply being toyed with so wonderfully. 

 

Finally.  _ Finally _ , the hunter seems satisfied that he’s torn down any remaining vestiges of coherent thought in his beloved’s brain and he sinks into the dhampir’s tight heat with a nearly feral growl, evidently driven quite mad by his own antics. Adrian, so overwhelmed by the utter euphoria he feels as his body stretches wider to accommodate the sheer girth of his lover’s cock, can only manage a hitched breath, his voice caught in his throat while his spine arcs off of the bed entirely. Golden eyes are wide at first, then screw shut and fly open again when that length wedges into him _ just so _ , pressing against a spot that has him absolutely clawing at the wooden headboard and seeing stars. He cries out the hunter’s name and is infinitely grateful when Trevor stills to allow him a moment to just fucking  _ breathe _ , callused palms stroking along his collarbone and cheek gently, the gestures calming and tender. It works like a charm, the frantic heaving of his chest slowing into something that actually allows his lungs to fill properly and sparks like cinders in the air dissipating. Oh. Oh dear. He could have set the whole place on fire. 

 

Of course, Trevor (clever, observant, wicked Trevor) doesn’t allow him to ponder this for long, rolling his hips languidly and watching with rapt interest the way Adrian’s lips part on a lovely gasp of pleasure. The dhampir’s legs wrap loosely around his waist, and that lithe body kissed by the moon rocks in tandem with his movements, instinct driving the blond to seek to take his lover deeper. He worries at his bottom lip, fangs drawing little pinpricks of crimson that Trevor gladly chases with his tongue, stealing a lazy kiss along with the blond’s breath. That mischievous tongue then draws along one sharp incisor, the hunter letting Adrian taste his blood again, perhaps hoping to further wreck the blond. Another successful attempt, clearly displayed in how the dhampir lets out a throaty moan, fingers tangling in somewhat lengthy chocolate tresses while he laps up the intoxicating substance, the tight channel around Trevor’s length giving a few noticeable pulses.

 

Naturally, as beset by desire as Adrian is, he sucks whatever he can from his lover’s tongue then moves to sink his teeth into the tanned flesh of a warm shoulder (the closest place he can reach), tearing a loud groan from the hunter and earning himself a particularly hard push of powerful hips. It’s equal parts delightful and encouraging, and he allows the warm liquid to pool into his mouth before he swallows and pulls more of it, mindlessly meeting Trevor’s thrusts which seem to gain in speed and momentum as the dhampir drinks from him. Pale hands move to slide down warm sides, pausing to feel the shift of well trained muscle beneath sunkissed flesh, then further until he grasps a hold of the taller man’s backside, coaxing him to give  _ more  _ \-- to stop holding back. 

 

The hunter seems to get the hint, seems entirely to happy to oblige, as he surges forward angling his movements to assault that part of Adrian that seems to make him..  _ devolve  _ helplessly into a mess of desperate noises and helpless writhing. When golden eyes seek out Trevor’s face, he finds the smug bastard smirking in satisfaction, but can’t seem to muster an ounce of indignant outrage because he feels like he’s about to fall to pieces in the most  _ perfect  _ way possible. Because every single nerve ending in his body in  _ singing  _ in a way he’s certain only Trevor can cause, in a way that makes his pale, flushed cock twitch in warning. 

 

Adrian realizes (vaguely, distantly) how doomed he is when his lover braces himself on one elbow, rough fingertips finding the sensitive edge of one pointed ear while his lips hover a breath away from the dhampir’s, and his other hand wraps around his length in a sure grip, stroking in time with the nearly punishing pace of his hips. The blond is by no means prepared for the inescapable assault of unadulterated pleasure that crashes over him. It is sudden and all encompassing and a  _ loud  _ keening cry of the hunter’s name is the only thing he can manage before his frame is bowing beautifully off of the bed and his orgasm is positively  _ torn  _ out of him, amber irises flickering red for the briefest of moments while he tightens around Trevor’s cock rhythmically. If the muttered curse under the hunter’s breath is any indication, or the way his movements become erratic, he’s not fairing too much better. The theory is proven correct when he inhales sharply and buries his face into the crook of Adrian’s neck, biting down while the dhampir feels that thick cock twitch and a rush of warmth pulses into him, the sensation truly only lengthening the waves of ecstasy that continue to wash over him until he’s a  _ wreck  _ of trembling limbs; panting and tangled up with Trevor and so out of his goddamn mind that his ears are  _ ringing  _ as he comes down from the most intense adrenaline high he’s ever had. 

________________

The next thing Adrian is aware of (possibly minutes later) is Trevor stroking damp blond curls off of his forehead and gazing down at him with the  _ softest  _ look in those striking blue eyes, the hint of a smile playing along the handsome curve of his lips. Almost on reflex, the dhampir’s mouth curls into an answering smile of his own, and he meets the kiss his lover offers sweetly and slowly, a gentle little thing that makes his pulse flutter in a different way. It’s purity and devotion, in one simple little gesture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next thing Adrian is aware of (possibly minutes later) is Trevor grinning down at him and stroking damp blond curls off of his forehead. 
> 
> “You’re /sweating/,” he says, triumphant and utterly besotted.


End file.
